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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30007884">Both</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/obimanletkenobi/pseuds/obimanletkenobi'>obimanletkenobi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Anakin Skywalker, Alpha Obi-Wan Kenobi, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dark Anakin Skywalker, Drug-Induced Sex, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Interdynamic Anakin Skywalker, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Character Death, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Anakin Skywalker, Omega Padme Amidala, Only in one chapter though, Sharing a Bed, they aren't even named so idk if it counts but there's a lot of it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:47:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,227</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30007884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/obimanletkenobi/pseuds/obimanletkenobi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After that the questions started, the speculation, only getting worse once the war began and he became, force-forbid, a public figure. It grates on him, when each holo report he reads seems to name him something else, except for what he actually is. The headstrong alpha knight, the omega protector of the republic, the steadfast beta, unmoved in the face of danger. Even people who’ve met him do it, just assuming based on what mood he was in, which scent was stronger that day. It’s not like he’s ashamed of it, when someone asks he just tells them, and gets a variety of reactions, from disbelief to disgust, and more than once a comm number slipped into his hand. That last one infuriates him the most, the message clear. You might be a freak, but it’s fine, as long as you’re fuckable too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, past Aayla Secura/Anakin Skywalker - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Before</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’m so fucking nonbinary I couldn’t just write normal a/b/o, no I had to be weird about it.</p><p>I'm tagging this M for now, but it will get explicit soon, probably in the next chapter.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anakin presented late, when he was 17. By then the healers had assured him repeatedly that there was little chance he’d turn out to be anything but a beta, but he was always good at defying expectations. He was sparring with Aayla when it happened, he’d been in older age groups for combat training ever since he got the hang of it. And older she was, long since presented and comfortable in her designation. She must have been fresh out of rut, unsuppressed because you couldn’t suppress Twi’lek hormones, that’s what made them such popular slaves, at least the omegas and those alphas small enough to be easily overpowered. </p><p>She was definitely not one of those alphas, still taller than him back then and when she pressed him down into the mat, holding his wrists above him, the deep, entrancing smell of rotting jungle soil and exotic flowers wrapped around him and he’d felt the back then still unfamiliar feeling of slick gathering inside him. He’d pushed her off with a growl, made a point to win the fight, pinning her down with his thighs spread around her and a forearm across her neck until she tapped out, before running away to lock himself in his room. </p><p>He hadn’t missed her shocked intake of breath, so he wasn’t surprised when Obi-Wan found him soon after. He’d stayed with him throughout the week, whenever he could get away from his duties, leading him in meditation to help distract him from the excruciating pain of his organs rearranging, growing into their intended shape. The first heat was always the longest and most painful, but necessary to allow the reproductive system to develop properly, or so the healers had explained it in the overly-clinical lesson on the subject that all younglings got. He wasn’t sure what he needed a functioning reproductive system for, considering Jedi weren’t allowed to have children anyway, and the sensation of his body tearing itself apart didn’t seem worth it. </p><p>Meditation had helped, surprisingly. It’d been easier than usual to let his feelings out into the force, to not dwell on them, allowing them to flow away, but that was probably just because of how hard he was concentrating on not showing Obi-Wan his thoughts. How much he wanted to touch him, to close the respectable distance between them, to go to his knees for another reason than communing with the force. How he craved to find anything in his scent but his usual, carefully suppressed spiced tea, anything in his expression but concern for the child he still saw him as. </p><p>And when he was left alone, at night, he thought of that, Obi-Wan forcing him to his knees, having his way with him, his Master, his alpha. He thought of Aayla too, the way she’d looked when he’d straddled her in training, sweaty from the fight, pupils wide in shock. He’d wondered if that’s what she’d look like if he was riding her, pressing his own fingers deep inside instead.</p><p>After it was over he was sent to the healers, given his first shot of suppressants, and that was supposed to be the end of it. Two days later he went into rut. The artificial hormones had sent his system into overdrive the other way, and it was the same thing all over again, except now, he spent his nights with his hand wrapped tight around his knot, dreaming of Padme’s soft lips and her sweet floral scent, that spread to cover all of Naboo in his memories. Obi-Wan still stayed with him, meditating, helping him through another wave of pain, but he kept even further away, nose scrunching when his scent got too strong, telling him to fight, to mark his territory. His days were spent being poked and prodded by concerned, yet obviously fascinated healers. It happened sometimes, of course, some biological variations, hormonal imbalances, but being truly interdynamic was rare, almost unheard of in human males. But then again, defying expectations and so on. </p><p>They refused to put him on suppressants after that. Or they’d tried to find a combination that worked, but it was useless, only pushed his body to extremes, one way or the other. At least his heats and ruts were rare and irregular, usually only happened when triggered by someone else’s. Before he met Padme he’d spent most of them with Aayla, one of the few unsuppressed Jedi close to him in age. In fact, while she was still a padawan and spent most of her time in the temple, they’d been almost perfectly synced, catching each other's eye or scent every few months and silently filing into her room, full of lush green plants and kept warmer than he’d usually like, driving him even wilder than he already felt. </p><p>After that the questions started, the speculation, only getting worse once the war began and he became, force-forbid, a public figure. It’s nowhere near the kind of attention Padme has been getting since she was a child, but it grates on him, when each holo report he reads seems to name him something else, except for what he actually is. The headstrong alpha knight, the omega protector of the republic, the steadfast beta, unmoved in the face of danger. Even people who’ve met him do it, just assuming based on what mood he was in, which scent was stronger that day. It’s not like he’s ashamed of it, when someone asks he just tells them, and gets a variety of reactions, from disbelief to disgust, and more than once a comm number slipped into his hand. That last one infuriates him the most, the message clear. You might be a freak, but it’s fine as long as you’re fuckable too. </p><p>Padme never made him feel like that. Sure, she was intrigued when she first noticed, but there was always so much love and understanding in it. She doesn’t get it, not really, and probably never will, but she tries, gets closer than most. </p><p>The Jedi just ignore it, like they usually do with the topic. Designations are base, crude matter. A Jedi must take care of the body he lives in, but it’s insignificant compared to their connection to the force. He never knew how to explain that it’s not insignificant to him, that he can’t just ignore it, treat it like it’s normal, when the whole world keeps telling him, over and over, that it’s not. </p><p>He sees it in every part of himself, in every aspect of his life. How overpowering his rage gets on the battlefield, but only when his men are in danger. His bone deep need to nurture and protect Ahsoka, that always comes out in playful bickering and roughhousing. How much he needs Padme with him, almost wants to possess her, in a way that scares him, despite how caring and soft he always is with her. And, of course, how much he has to fight against his every instinct telling him to submit to Obi-Wan, to bend his head and agree to whatever he says, how he overcompensates away from it straight into willful disobedience.</p><p>The chancellor understands better than others, always listens when he complains about it, with that same polite curiosity he always had for his problems. He tells him stories of ancient cultures that saw people like him as sacred, the only ones truly capable of communing with all aspects of the force, achieving true balance through both light and dark. He sends him books about them, and Anakin’s never been interested in history, but he reads those with wide eyes, finally a proof that he’s not alone. </p><p>And he does feel alone, most of the time. In the temple suppressants are all but mandatory, on Coruscant as a whole they’re considered polite and used by all who can afford them. On the battlefield he stands between a sea of betas and machines, which is good, or at least safe, but it means he rarely has contact with anyone who gets even the most basic aspect of all this, let alone his unique situation. Ahsoka was barely presented when she became his padawan, and the war hasn’t given her any time to explore or understand what being an alpha means for her. </p><p>He’s horrified how almost relieved he used to feel when fighting the sith. Dooku’s scent of licorice and ambergris, not quite covered by suppressants and expensive cologne is a reprieve from the sweat, armorplast and blaster fire that drowns out the clones barely-there scent of cut grass, no matter how much he’s always hated licorice, and how much he hates the man himself. Some part of him thinks it’s wrong to attack an omega, another wants to punish him for the offence of ever hurting the alpha he partly is. It’s all so complicated and only makes him despise him more. Ventress, on the other hand, is as far from complicated as they come. Strutting into fights like she hasn’t heard of suppressants in her life, the smell of dry wine following in her wake, tinged sour by the dark side, like it sat too long in the sun, until it filled with drowned bugs, entranced to their death. </p><p>That feeling of relief stopped and was replaced by nothing but an entirely un-Jedi like amount of hate and anger, after Ventress showed up one day, smelling like she was hours away from rut, and sent him into heat. The most horrifying thing was, she noticed, and pushed it further, losing her usual acrobatics to get as close to him as possible, her skirt blowing her scent around like a fan. She’d probably hoped to get him to lose focus, but she underestimated how much he’s had to work to keep it in those situations, so he could even begin to match the other, suppressed Jedi. He learned how to let his raging hormones fuel him, translating his physical need into the practiced moves of combat, only muscle memory remaining with no space in his mind for distractions. It did make him a bit careless, and that’s how he got his scar, but it also made him undefeatable. She ran, like she usually did, and he’d somehow managed to get back to Coruscant and stumble into Padme’s apartment before he lost his mind completely. </p><p>Sweet, perfect Padme hadn’t pushed him away, hadn’t been disgusted to see him begging for her to take him, like he usually did her. She’d helped him, like she always did, with everything in life, loving and supportive, and, as he’d been delighted to notice once he regained some lucidity, actually turned on. He’d never felt so taken care of, so safe in his entire life as when he came over and over on her fist, as when she cleaned the wound on his face and held him close, teeth dragging, but never sinking where they both knew they couldn’t let a bite show. It was his first heat since they got married, and he’d almost hoped his body had adjusted to match her scheduled heats with his own ruts, almost hoped he could just be an alpha, in this if nothing else. But having her accept this part of him like every other was infinitely better than pretending he was something else could ever be. </p><p>She goes off her suppressants to have her heats twice a year, less often than natural, but apparently necessary if she ever wants children, with her subtly different Nubian biology. And she does want children, and so does he, though they never talk about it. He can’t imagine raising them with all this secrecy, but leaving the order isn’t something he even lets himself consider, especially not during the war. He doesn’t even know if he can have children at all, and he tries not to think too much about that either. </p><p>It does get harder to ignore when she;s nearing heat, as she is now. He’d missed the last one, away on the front, but this time he’s just won a battle, at the cost of nearly losing his command ship, and hopefully the repairs would take at least the week and a half until her heat. After that, well. The council might not understand the details, but they know a general in rut is a liability more than an asset, so he’d get the few days he needed. </p><p>He’s thinking about all that when Obi-Wan walks into his room, announcing,“we’re being sent on a mission.” </p><p>“Did they finish the repairs on the Resolute already?” He asks, surprised and a touch disappointed. </p><p>“No, it’s just the two of us this time.”</p><p>“Alright, when do we leave?” Soon, hopefully, so he can make it back in time. </p><p>“We should talk first,” Obi-Wan says, sitting down on the couch. </p><p>Anakin suddenly gets a bad feeling, when he realises it’s strange they weren’t called before the council for this assignment.</p><p>“The planet is very traditional,” Obi-Wan continues, only making him more anxious. Those don’t usually accept him all that well. “They’ll only speak to a bonded pair.”</p><p>“We are not a bonded pair,” He says slowly, looking at Obi-Wan like he’s suddenly gone insane. And maybe he has, considering what he says next.</p><p>“The council believes that we are the closest thing we have.”</p><p>“They must be glad we never listened to their lectures on attachment, then,” he laughs, incredulously, and Obi-Wan glares at him instead of responding. “Fine. They must be glad <em>I</em> never listened to <em>your</em> lectures on attachment.”</p><p>“Anakin,” he sighs.</p><p>“I’m not an omega.”</p><p>“I know that. But you can pretend to be one well enough.” </p><p>That is true. He’d gone on undercover missions many times, in seedy clubs on seedier planets, places where an actual omega wouldn’t be safe, but only an omega could slip by unnoticed. Or not unnoticed exactly, considering the leering and unwanted touches, but disregarded, underestimated. He remembers how he focused on Obi-Wan everytime, imagining it was his hands slipping under his clothes as he walked by, not some anonymous alpha’s, so he could keep his scent sweet and flirty. But this is different, why can't he see that?</p><p>“Why did you agree to this?”</p><p>“We don’t really have a choice. This system has been silent for millenia, in fact it was thought the race was extinct, and they have natural resources we desperately need for the war. They want to trade, possibly even join the Republic.”</p><p>“Why don’t they just send a politician then?” Negotiating the details of trade agreements isn’t the order’s job, at least not anymore. They're needed on the front, and he's needed in Padme’s bed, not playing pretend with Obi-Wan halfway across the galaxy. </p><p>“The senate decided it would be too dangerous, we don’t know enough about them to determine if it’s safe. Apparently the chancellor suggested us in specific.”</p><p>Oh. The chancellor knows he doesn’t like pretending to be an omega, he wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important. “Alright.”</p><p>“Really? Just like that?” Obi-Wan asks. </p><p>“Yeah, just like that,” he answers, annoyed again. He said he’d do it. “Did you want to argue some more?”</p><p>“No, I just… Nevermind. Pack your things, it’s a long way, we’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The mission</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anakin spends the entire two days of the trip getting all wrapped up in his doubts. He’s got a bad feeling about this, something slimy and wrong wrapping itself around his every thought on the mission, and he doesn’t know if it’s a real warning from the force, or just his own anxiety about having to pretend he’s an omega in front of Obi-Wan. Having to pretend he’s <em>Obi-Wan’s omega</em>. It’s one thing to imagine his scent to better act the part in some shady club, lightyears away from the man himself, it’s another entirely to have to do it in front of him, with that very scent present. It won’t be acting then. It’ll be giving up, giving in to the part of him that’s wanted this for years. He’s never been a good liar and Obi-Wan knows him well enough to notice it isn’t a ruse. Even if he doesn’t, Anakin isn’t sure if he’ll be able to give this up later. Once that part of him gets what it wants: the casual touches, the quiet obedience that doesn’t come from a loss of autonomy, but an outward acknowledgement of absolute trust, he doubts he’ll manage to lock it away again, go back to normal and pretend this never happened. And if he doesn’t play his part well, this whole mission will be pointless. It feels pretty pointless already. He should be back on the front, where he’s actually useful. This is beneath him. A job for a half-trained padawan, not the two best generals in the order. </p><p>“This won’t work,” he says, as they’re nearing their destination.</p><p>“Well it certainly won’t with you smelling like that,” Obi-Wan answers with something between an exasperated sigh and an offended sniff, and Anakin glares at him.</p><p>“It’s not like I can help it.” That’s not entirely true. The only reason he’s been assigned this mission is he can mask his scent, so he’ll read as a perfectly normal omega or alpha. But it requires an amount of concentration entirely unachievable in the circumstances. He knows his anxiety has been spreading through the air. His usual scent of thick Tatooinian stew, roasted spices, caramelized aromatics and sweet vegetables cooked long and slow until they’re soft and heavy is tainted by his anger and anxiety. Burnt alliums, a fermented aftertaste and spices so strong they’re pungent instead of bright have been recycling through the ship for days. Obi-Wan hadn’t said anything until now, but he’s been on edge the entire time, the smell of alpha in distress in such a tight space making him aggressive. Of course he’s too polite and well-trained to do anything about it, other than snap at him more often than usual about unrelated issues. Anakin knows he should be well-trained and polite enough to get this under control, but he’s not. And part of him is reveling in letting it go on, forcing them both to marinate in the physical proof of how bad an idea this is. </p><p>“Maybe I could help,” Obi-Wan says, calm and thoughtful as always. “I’ve been told our scents mix well together, I could try to cover it.” </p><p>That part is true, most of the time when someone thinks he’s an omega, it’s because they assume the spices on him are Obi-Wan. Back when he was a padawan and they still lived together, their smells were interweaved on all their clothing, and they had been mistaken for a bonded pair once or twice. But at least then they could correct those who asked, and those who didn’t, realised soon enough, when they saw how they acted towards each other. This time they’d have to play along. Still, he agreed to this mission, and it’s too late to turn back, so there’s no point refusing the only way that could make this work.</p><p>“Alright,” he answers, bending his neck to the side, then nearly jumps in surprise when Obi-Wan presses his own against it. He’d expected him to use his wrist, and now he’s flooded by the smell of black tea, a touch bitter and oversteeped from the stress Obi-Wan is so good at hiding on his face, but still shows in his scent. He forces himself to stay completely still, so he doesn’t do anything mortifying like purr, or lean into the feeling of their scent glands rubbing against each other. He feels Obi-Wan’s beard scratching the back of his neck, his breath ruffling his hair, and this’ll definitely work because suddenly all his attention is focused on controlling himself, on keeping the sweet tang of arousal from spiking in his scent. </p><p>Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Obi-Wan pulls back, and laughs when he sees his face. “You look like you just saw a flying bantha.”</p><p>“I thought you’d use your wrist.” It slips out almost against his will, thankfully sounding more surprised than offended.</p><p>“Oh. Yes, I suppose I could have,” Obi-Wan answers, his smile fading for a moment, before returning, bright as ever. “Well, we better get used to it.”</p><p>The ship starts beeping then, signalling they’re about to drop out of hyperspace, and he turns to the controls so he doesn’t have to think about how used to it he already is, how natural and perfect it felt, how horrified he is at the very idea of having to do anything like this in front of others. </p><p> </p><p>The beings that welcome them on the landing platform are humanoid, though in a way he’s never seen before. Usually the differences are either immediately obvious, bright skin colors, horns and other growths, or mostly internal, barely noticeable adaptations to different climates within species still considered human. Obi-Wan’s slightly thicker skin, to protect against Stewjon’s harsh winds, his own long lashes, meant to guard his eyes against sandstorms. </p><p>But here, it’s something in between. They’re just similar enough to read as humans at first glance, but slightly… off. The only obvious difference is their eyes, that have no iris or pupil, just a speckled orb in every color except those he’s used to seeing. They’re set just a bit too wide, angled out in a way that makes his own swim whenever he tries to make eye contact. Their long hands move in a sinuous way that has him trying to count the joints in their fingers, their noses, all upturned in a way that looks more reptilian than childish, don’t shift with their faces when they speak, as if they’re made entirely of bone instead of cartilage. Their entire culture seems to rest on bonded pairs, who move and speak in near-perfect unison, lending a strange echoey cadence to the entire experience. Most of them know basic, at least, though they use a dialect so ancient it’s nigh incomprehensible at times. </p><p>And none of them use suppressants, so this should be fun. </p><p>The mission itself is pretty standard, or at least what used to be standard before the war, the main difference being the high-necked tunics they wear to cover the lack of mating bites, and the fact at night they retire to a single bed. And the touching. The constant touching. Obi-Wan’s hand on his lower back when they walk, a casual brush of his knuckles against his arm during the hours-long negotiations. The first time he gives him his hand to help him step out of a speeder Anakin almost slaps it away in anger. It’s astonishing how naturally this seems to come to Obi-Wan, like he’s not even doing it consciously, and how abruptly it stops when they’re left alone makes his head spin. But he gets used to it, quicker than he’d care to admit, starts retaliating, resting his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder when the official dinners run long, pressing close into his side as they’re led on guided tours through the scenic gardens and monumental, though crumbling cities. </p><p>It feels so much like the missions they went on when he was still a padawan that he almost forgets about the war at times, and gets angry whenever he catches himself. It’s absurd to think that while they’re here, being treated like honored guests, like tourists, eating luxurious meals, just parsecs away people are dying, fighting for the republic. </p><p>Still, it’s easy to settle into their old routine. Obi-Wan does most of the speaking while he reaches out with his senses and the force, trying to find dangers, deception and potential escape routes. And he does sense something wrong, just out of reach, but neither of them can narrow it down. They talk about it at night, after another busy, though ultimately pointless day of deliberation. There’s a sense of anticipation in the air, and even Obi-Wan has to admit the negotiations are just going around in circles, like they’re being purposefully stalled. A week has passed and they still haven’t reached a decision, even though every condition of the trade agreement has been discussed in excruciating, but completely hypothetical detail. He hasn’t managed to get a moment alone to call Padme since they arrived, but he did talk to her on the way here, promising he’d try to get back in time for her heat. It seems less and less likely that he’ll make it, and he knows she’ll go back to Naboo if he doesn’t, to spend it safe and unbothered, far from the chaos of Coruscant. </p><p>The next day the atmosphere seems tense, like all this anticipation has been building towards this very moment, and when they’re invited to the lunar festival, Anakin immediately gets a bad feeling, only confirmed by Obi-Wan’s hand tightening on his shoulder. But they smile politely, and go back to their room to get changed. It’s not like they have much choice, apparently it’s the most important holiday here, the one day of the year when the many moons orbiting this planet align and the night shines as bright as day. Besides, if there is danger here, he’d rather deal with it sooner than later so they can finally leave. Some part of him would like to stay here forever, living in luxury and comfort with Obi-Wan, the part that keeps screaming that he deserves this, doesn’t he? A break from the war, from the constant death and suffering, a vacation, and not just leave, and it’s getting louder the longer they stay, which only makes him more anxious to go, while he can still convince himself he wants to.</p><p>As they approach the tables set out in the gardens his anxiety only gets stronger. He’d assumed they were one of those societies that retreats to privacy for their heats, because despite the complete lack of suppressants, he hadn’t smelled it on anyone this entire time, but now the scent of approaching heat and rut is heavy in the air. He tries to keep his distance from those who smell the strongest, but it’s hard to discern who’s who, all intermingled with the strange aroma of the flowers that grow all around them and the fragrant steam coming from the food on the tables. It makes everything seem fuzzy, the mission, the potential danger, the reason he should avoid triggering a rut in himself at all cost, and the reason he shouldn’t be laying his head down in Obi-Wan’s lap while his fingers scratch his scalp and he speaks softly with the elders around the table. </p><p>The wine they’re served is sweet but strong and it reminds him of old missions, the least dangerous ones they were sent on when he was a teenager, where their only objective was representing the Jedi’s approval, or overseeing a peaceful exchange of power. Those usually ended with banquets like this one, and Obi-Wan would allow him one glass of local liquor, look the other way for the next three or four, then guide him back to his room with a fond, but long suffering smile, holding his padawan braid back in the fresher more than once. But he’s not sixteen anymore, he won’t end the night too drunk to function. He’s more lucid than he looks, he’s sure, which gives him an excuse to reach up, drag his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, tucking it behind his ear where a strand came loose. He looks flushed too, apparently not unaffected by the wine either, but when Anakin’s hand slides down his neck, he catches him by the wrist, and makes their excuses politely. It’s later than he thought, the tables half-empty, and they walk through long stone corridors, stumbling over each other, half asleep already.</p><p> </p><p>The first thing Anakin notices when he wakes up, just a few hours later, is how warm he feels, no doubt in part because of how tightly he wrapped himself around Obi-Wan in his sleep. That is hardly unusual in and of itself, they’ve shared much smaller cots than this and he’s always been a restless sleeper, so even here, in this frankly extravagantly sized bed he usually wakes up with an arm slung over Obi-Wan or a leg tangled between his. He isn’t usually this close, though, which is why the second thing he notices is the rich scent of caf flooding his senses. Nothing like the cheap instant kind they get in their army rations, that always manages to taste burnt and bitter even when made with lukewarm water from their cantines. No, this is like the freshly ground, dark and sweet kind Padme makes whenever they have time to eat breakfast together. His mouth opens automatically to chase it, until his lips press into Obi-Wan’s neck, taking deep breaths despite himself, the usual barely-there tea suddenly something deeper, stronger, warmer. </p><p>“Anakin,” he hears, whispered worryingly close, and his eyes open.</p><p>He moves back embarrassed, so his face is further from that scent and he can think clearly. He realises he’s grinding against Obi-Wan and pulls his hips away, but keeps his arm wrapped around him, because despite what some might believe, his strength does have limits. And that way he can avoid eye contact.</p><p>“You’re going into rut,” he says, in part as an excuse but mostly to change the subject.</p><p>“Yes, I’ve noticed.” </p><p>“How could this happen, aren’t you on suppressants?”</p><p>“I am. It could be something I ate. They don’t use them here, so they wouldn’t know what interacts badly,” Obi-Wan answers, infuriatingly calm and logical even now. </p><p>“When was the last time you had one?” He asks, because he can’t remember it ever happening before, and he doesn’t think he could forget this smell.</p><p>“When I was nineteen.”</p><p>Anakin hisses, “it’s gonna be a bad one.” </p><p>“I imagine it will be.”</p><p>“How are you so calm about this?”</p><p>“Would you rather I panicked?” </p><p>No, he wouldn’t. But he would like to hear any emotion in his voice, anything but calm resignation. </p><p>“You should go wait it out on the ship,” Obi-Wan continues, and Anakin muffles a laugh in his hair.</p><p>“That’s not gonna work,” he says, lifting his leg up for a moment to let the smell of his slick escape, sticky-sweet like the pastries his mother used to steal for him from Gardulla’s kitchens, each one sugar-filled enough to give him energy for an entire day, or at least enough to where he could pretend they did. Watto wasn’t a good person by any means, but at least he kept them fed most of the time. He hates how even after all these years he still smells like Tatooine, like home, in all the worst meanings of the word. He loves it too, in a heartbreaking way, his only reminder of his mother. Her own beta-faint smell of sun-dried fruit was always overpowered by the spices she used to cook. He tucks that thought away, deep inside, like he usually does these days. Maybe one day he’ll be able to think of her without feeling like he’s endangering the war, his entire sense of self and the whole kriffing galaxy, but for now he just has to ignore it. Besides, he has more pleasant things to worry about. </p><p>He could go to the ship, but if anyone caught him, running away to spend his heat alone, their cover would definitely be blown. And he didn’t miss the way Obi-Wan’s hand clutched white knuckled at the sheets when he caught his scent.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Of course he’d blame himself for being poisoned, if it meant he sent Anakin into heat. “We could meditate through it,” he suggests, some strain finally showing in his voice. </p><p>“Yeah? How did that work out for you last time?” Anakin asks, and doesn’t get an answer. “Exactly. Besides, if we meditate through the night, it’ll only hit us stronger in the morning, and I’d rather be lucid for the negotiations.” Still nothing, but he can feel the cogs of Obi-Wan’s thoughts whirring behind his impenetrable shields. “Now, I can go lock myself in the fresher for the night,” he continues, trying to push the decision along, “or we could deal with it like normal people.”</p><p>“Anakin, we’re-”</p><p>“We are not normal people,” Anakin cuts him off in a very bad imitation of a core accent. “We are Jedi and therefore it is our force-given duty to make our lives as difficult as possible and avoid pleasure at all cost.”</p><p>“You know it’s not that simple,” Obi-Wan says, resignation stronger than ever in his voice.</p><p>“Then say it. Tell me to leave and I will. I’ll even give you the bed, so you can be comfortable while you listen to me fucking myself in the fresher. While you smell me,” he adds, cherry on top of his argument, throwing his leg over Obi-Wan’s hips, letting the scent of his heat spread warm and heavy through the room. </p><p>Obi-Wan’s breath hitches, finally a reaction, but he stays silent and still.</p><p>“Come on, you must know it’ll be easier like that.” Anakin knows he’s begging by now, no matter how much he tries to mask it as taunting. </p><p>“Easier?” Obi-Wan growls, and that’s the only warning he gets before he turns in his arms and pushes him flat on his back. Now they’re getting somewhere. “Are you enjoying this?” He asks, voice strained and indecipherable.</p><p>“Oh, immensely,” he answers, pushing his hip up to brush against Obi-Wan’s groin. Though there are many things he’d rather be enjoying, especially when Obi-Wan’s hand comes down to grab his hips, and he almost thinks he’s about to get what he wants. Unfortunately he only uses it to pin him down to the bed, breaking the contact between them.</p><p>“Stop it.”</p><p>“I’m not doing anything,” he answers, pushing back pointedly against the tight grip forcing him down.</p><p>“You’re projecting.”</p><p>Kriff. He hadn’t meant to. “I’m-”</p><p>“Do you realise,” Obi-Wan cuts him off with a shake of his head, “how long you’ve been doing it? That every time you started smelling of heat I knew I was about to get a week-long show? That I know in excruciating detail how exactly Aayla’s knot or Padme’s fist feels inside of you?” </p><p>“It wasn’t usually a week,” he answers, too shocked to say anything else.</p><p>“Oh, but you like to drag it out don’t you? I would know, I’ve seen it.” The low rumble of Obi-Wan’s voice is starting to sound more angry than aroused, enough to snap Anakin out of the heat daze and into the familiar feeling of being berated by his master.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he stutters, mortified. He thought he was shielding then. He thinks he’s shielding now, too, until Obi-Wan answers his thoughts as if he’d said them out loud.</p><p>“You thought, didn’t you? Well, you get sloppy when you’re in heat.” </p><p>“You could have shielded too,” Anakin says, shame turning back into anger with a flip of a switch.</p><p>“Oh, I did. And then you’d waltz in, days later, smelling of a whole kriffing flowershop and you’d ask <em>why are you so closed off Master? Is everything alright, Master?”</em> Obi-Wan was always better at impressions, but he’s pretty sure he never sounded this whiny. </p><p>The thought fades from his mind when he feels Obi-Wan’s thigh push between his legs, the lightest touch making him gasp out, “Master, please.” </p><p>“Exactly,” Obi-Wan answers, pulling his leg back once he’s proved his point, making Anakin even more unsure of what’s going on. “Do you realise how deep I had to lock all of that away? How long I’ve been ignoring it? You were seventeen,” he adds, twirling a strand of hair behind his right ear around his finger, right where his padawan braid used to be, then pulling on it sharply, making Anakin moan, then blush. “Quiet. You’ll get your way, you always do,” he shushes, and Anakin looks up hopefully, but apparently they aren’t done with the reprimanding part of the night. He should have known a lecture is what counts as foreplay for Obi-Wan. “And now you think you can just crawl all over me and say how <em>easy</em> this’ll be. Do you even want this? Or are you just desperate enough to throw yourself at anyone, even me?” </p><p>The confident facade cracks the slightest bit on that last sentence and oh. <em>Oh,</em> that means Obi-Wan hasn’t seen how long he’s wanted him, specifically. He was always more careful about his shields when he was alone, especially when his thoughts strayed to him. That’s somehow even worse, because he’ll have to show him now, on purpose, which is infinitely more embarrassing. But there’s no other way forward, and Anakin is nothing if not brave, so he lets whatever’s left of his shields drop and thinks back to all the times he’s been desperate for him, heat or no heat, for years now. And this past week, how every touch, delicate, platonic, carefully arranged for an audience only made him crave more. </p><p>Obi-Wan’s face slackens as the memories flood his mind, eyes searching his face, confused. His hands loosen, and he almost moves away, but Anakin isn’t about to let him and he grabs his neck to finally pull him down for a kiss. For a moment he thinks he’ll fight it, but he doesn’t, just kisses him back with all that wild intensity that he likes to pretend isn’t there, simmering right under his skin. </p><p>But that’s how it always goes, Obi-Wan denies himself, and Anakin pushes until they both get what they want. And apparently he’s done with denying himself, and it’s his turn to push, as he drags his hand down Anakin’s side until his fingers dip under his waistband. Anakin’s wanted this for years, never thought he’d actually get it, and suddenly he’s scared again, of giving in, of giving up the control he’s been holding onto so desperately, so he flips them over. Obi-Wan bites his lip, but doesn’t fight, and Anakin’s done waiting, actually, so he shoves his hand down Obi-Wan’s pants and wraps his hand around his cock. From then it’s not perfect, but it was never supposed to be. They’re both fighting that same loss of control, against themselves more than each other, until suddenly they’re both naked and Anakin finally sinks down and they freeze for an eternal second, eyes fixed on each other, breathing heavily. And then he sees that smile appear on Obi-Wan’s face, the one that means he’s done holding himself back and life is about to get a lot harder for anyone standing in his way, and he thrusts up sharply, and doesn’t stop. Anakin’s never been one to let himself be outstaged, and he gives as good as he gets, pushing back against the stretch, slamming down too fast, too strong and just right. And when Obi-Wan’s hands clutch his hips it’s suddenly too much and he wraps his hand around his cock and spills in minutes. And stays hard, which is unusual, but not unwelcome. Obi-Wan lets out an astonished chuckle, then chokes on it when Anakin starts moving again. He feels a growing knot catch on his rim for the first time in years, and he wants to drop down and grind against it slowly, but Obi-Wan doesn’t let him, moving his hips up on his own, bringing them down till the widest part stretches him open, then pushing back up before he can settle.</p><p>“Obi-Wan. Just knot me, come on,” he pants out once the teasing gets unbearable. It gets him the opposite of what he wanted, when Obi-Wan stops moving, his fingers digging hard into his hips to keep them raised up. </p><p>“Anakin, we can’t.”</p><p>“Why not? I’m on birth control, you know that,” he whines, trying to push down, but Obi-Wan’s got his elbows braced on the bed and he can’t do anything but squirm pointlessly, split open on the widest part of his knot.</p><p>“They could have failed, like my suppressants.”</p><p>“Then I’ll take a pill tomorrow, this isn’t the kriffing pre-Republic era.” Thankfully the temple healers had managed to find contraceptives that worked for him, or at least had always worked before, which is pretty much the best one can hope for. He can feel the knot growing, spreading him further and soon this argument will be over one way or another. “Master, please,” he begs again, and lo and behold, it actually works. Obi-Wan pushes him down, just in time, then rolls them over again and there’s that sweet grind he’s been looking for, slow and filthy, with no space for anything more. He feels a hand wrap around his cock and suddenly everything stops, and he looks down, because he felt it too. </p><p>“Does that usually happen?” Obi-Wan asks, with his fingers wrapped around Anakin’s own growing knot.</p><p>“Never when I’m in heat,” he answers, but very soon they’ll have a lot of time to ponder his miraculous biology, and it only takes one roll of his hips to convince Obi-Wan of the same. He starts moving again, panting into his shoulder, and his hand stays on his cock, not repulsed, but clearly not experienced with it either. No wonder, if he hasn’t had a rut in so long. Anakin tangles his fingers with his and shows him how to squeeze down, the pressure from all sides making his whole body tense, and push Obi-Wan over the edge. And with how much he’s missed the feeling of warm seed filling him up, it’s all it takes to get him to follow, spilling between them, lips pressed against Obi-Wan’s neck, mouth carefully closed, because he knows he’d probably jump out of bed if he felt the slightest hint of teeth, and that would hurt right now. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We’re getting the smut out of the way quickly but there will be yearning and repression later on, don’t worry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter got very dark, I wasn't sure whether it warrants the graphic descriptions of violence warning so let me know if I should add it. I'll put detailed warnings in the end notes, and if you're sensitive I recommend you read them.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I think they did this on purpose,” Anakin says, once he can breathe again. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Your suppressants failing wasn’t an accident. My heat might have been triggered by your rut, but that wouldn’t explain this,” he elaborates, gesturing vaguely to his knot, already shrinking without any pressure around it. “You must have smelled they were all going into heat or rut. Probably a mating ritual.” They’d encountered enough of those throughout the galaxy, but Republic law requires outsiders be notified of such substances. This planet isn’t in the Republic though, that was the whole point of them being here. </p><p>“I think you’re right. It could be something in the wine, that’s the only thing they served today that we didn’t have before,” Obi-Wan answers, before pulling him close and rolling over on his back so he doesn’t crush him. Anakin didn’t actually mind the weight, but he does mind the stickiness so he leans back, wincing at the pull on his hole, and grabs his pants, discarded at the foot of the bed, so he can clean them up at least a bit. He watches with a cocked eyebrow as Obi-Wan summons his datapad with a wave of his hand. Apparently there are exceptions to his rules on unnecessary use of the force. Though that’s always been more of a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ rule. He leans forward to look at the screen and laughs when he sees a description of the planet they’re on.</p><p>“<em>You</em> didn’t read the briefing?” He asks.</p><p>“Of course I did, these are some extra files I got from the archives. I want to see if there’s anything about this substance here. Why, did you not read the briefing?”</p><p>He hums noncommittally. He’d skimmed it, that was usually good enough and his mind was elsewhere on the way here. He grabs his own datapad, and sets up a transfer. “Give me half, it’ll go faster that way.”</p><p>He does actually try to focus on reading, but the glorious weight of a knot inside him, that he hasn’t felt in so long, is distracting. It’s not even arousal, not yet at least, just the quiet comfort of a heat satisfied like it’s meant to be that has him clenching and pressing down periodically to reassure himself that this really happened. At the same time that bad feeling from last morning is back, a warning from the force, insistent enough to hog his attention, but so vague it leads nowhere whenever he tries to look at it closer. </p><p>He realises, again, that his eyes have been trailing the lines of text for three pages without actually reading, and he clicks back annoyed. The sooner they solve this, the sooner they can figure out what exactly is going on here and leave. His eyes catch an image as he scrolls through. It’s a symbol that’s everywhere here, on banners and jewellery and tableware, but nowhere among the carvings on the walls. The entire week it had taunted him with how much he could almost place it, but now that he sees it in the pixelated monochrome on his screen he can.</p><p>“Kriff,” he mutters under his breath, trying not to let his distress show, and apparently failing with how quickly Obi-Wan looks up. </p><p>“It’s… we need to leave, Obi-Wan. They’re not who they say they are, they’re darksiders.”</p><p>“What? How would you know?”</p><p>“Remember how we thought they were extinct because of some civil war? Well they didn’t win it, the other side did. Look,” he says, turning the datapad around, “I’ve seen this symbol before, in a book the chancellor gave me. They’re a dark side cult.”</p><p>“Why did the chancellor give you a book about dark side cults?” Obi-Wan asks, focusing on the entirely wrong issue.</p><p>“It wasn’t about them, they were just mentioned in it.” The bad feeling is quickly turning into panic. “The book was about people like me and how different religions viewed them, and these ones were bad about it. Like, sacrifice, blood rituals and honored priests that were really just pleasure slaves, bad. We can’t handle this alone, especially not like this. We need to go.”</p><p>“Right now?” Obi-Wan asks, looking pointedly down at where they’re joined. “Wait-”</p><p>But Anakin is already pulling himself up, too soon, the stretch painful but irrelevant. The force is screaming at him to run, right now, and for once he’s not going to argue. He might have experience fighting through his ruts, but Obi-Wan doesn’t and they’re completely outnumbered. He winces at the sudden rush of come out of him, pushed out when his stomach tensed as he moved away. </p><p>Obi-Wan doesn’t argue, just sends him worried glances as they dress and pack in a hurry.</p><p>They almost make it, as they usually do. They sneak through the corridors without interruptions until, on the last stretch before the hangar where their ship is waiting, suddenly no less than twenty locals step out of doors on both sides, cutting them off. They’re armed with spears so elaborately decorated they must be ceremonial, but don’t look any less dangerous for it. </p><p>“Leaving so soon?” Asks the pair of leaders, who’ve been nothing but calm and pleasant the entire week, but now show a deep, disgusting hunger in their eyes. They still look relatively composed, all of them do, considering how much they reek of pheromones. </p><p>And maybe it’s the smell that makes him draw his lightsaber, or their leering expressions, or how unsettled Obi-Wan feels next to him, the rut hitting him hard again. He doesn’t get a chance to do much, apparently distracted himself, because someone steps up behind him and knocks him out. </p><p>He wakes up in an enormous room, chained to... of course. Chained to a kriffing altar, and dressed in the same robes everyone around him is wearing. His eyes scan the room, until he finds Obi-Wan, bound to a wall in some dark corner, still unconscious, with a smear of blood on his temple. </p><p>“Good, you’re awake,” he hears right beside him, with the strange echo of two different voices speaking at once.</p><p>“What do you want?” He snarls at the tall pair in front of him. </p><p>“We only want to help you.”</p><p>“Somehow I find that hard to believe,” he answers, shaking the chains on his wrists, for effect, but also to test them. They’re strong.</p><p>“You’ve got so much potential, and yet you’re holding yourself back. The Jedi call you their chosen one, do they not? Our name for you is perhaps a touch less dramatic, but we have been expecting you nonetheless.”</p><p>“That’s just a myth.”</p><p>“Well, all myths have to start somewhere. You’re not the first one, and you will not be the last. Is your task not to bring balance? How do you expect to do that when you hide from the dark like a child.”</p><p>Anakin might not be the most balanced person at the best of times, but he knows that it’s nothing compared to the wildly swinging rage he felt the few times he gave in to the dark side. The dark side, to him, has never been a distant existential threat like the other Jedi described it. It sits right at the back of his mind, behind a door that’s constantly ajar. Sometimes it feels like he has to keep his whole weight pressed against it to keep it all from spilling out. Right now he doesn’t know how long he can hold it, the hormones rushing through his veins, and the strange, tense way the force surrounds this planet sneaking past his defences.</p><p>“You think of us as archaic, and perhaps that’s true,” the pair continues. “But racing forward at the cost of losing sight of what truly matters, of true power, is not sustainable. There is a strength in rut and heat unmatched by any other. Hiding that, depriving yourself of it removes you from the world, disconnects you from the force. Are we not all animals after all?”</p><p>The only kind of animal Anakin feels like in this moment is a lab rat. </p><p>“Our planet is stagnating, dying even. There’s a deep well of power hidden in its core, but it was damaged in the war.”</p><p>“The war you started,” he spits. </p><p>He feels Obi-Wan slowly waking up and turns his attention towards him, nudging him in the force, making sure he’s fine. The wave of arousal bordering on pain that hits him makes him recoil behind his shields. If they’d fucked through the night they would have gotten a few hours of break by now, but no, Anakin had to rush them and now Obi-Wan’s suffering and the leaking of his lust through Anakin’s patchy shields is affecting him too. But if they hadn’t left they probably would have just been taken from their room. </p><p>“That is ancient history, and not entirely true. We tend to focus on the present, and currently you have been sent here to help us open the connection once more.”</p><p>“If you wanted my help, you should have just asked nicely,” he says, trying to stall, but somehow he knows instinctively what they want from him. The nights here are longer than on Coruscant, and the moons are still high in the sky, though not clumped together in one bright spot of light anymore, but slowly spreading out towards the horizon, visible through wide, arched windows. Their bright light, reflecting off their crystalline surface falls right on his skin, singing in the force with a clear note, good and clean in a way not even the temple feels, pure light without the complications of morality, of bending or following imperfect rules set by imperfect sentients. And beneath the altar an endless cold roars, like the echoes of a long-dead star, hungry and irresistible, grabbing at the anger inside him, stroking it until it threatens to overcome him. The two energies push against each other like magnets, tempting him to see how close he can press them together before they explode or give in and merge. He feels that treacherous swell of power and quickly closes his eyes, his mind, his fists and shields trying to lock himself in the chaotic, but familiar feel of his own presence. </p><p>“We asked, and you came. The planet calls to you, you must feel it. You are the only one who can bring balance.”</p><p>“Of course I feel it,” Anakin grits out, “that doesn’t mean I have to give in to it. This isn’t balance. The dark is hungry and deep, it will devour your moons and you with them.”</p><p>He feels Obi-Wan’s surprise, the effort it takes him to get his rut under control and push a question towards Anakin. <em>Show me.</em> He doesn’t, afraid of overwhelming him, of letting him see how familiar the dark is, how it wraps itself around him, until he knows any attempt of using the force will make him draw on it, but Obi-Wan pushes against his shields insistently, until he gives in and sends through the slightest impression of what he feels. Obi-Wan recoils behind his own shields immediately, and Anakin sends him an ‘I told you so’ look. </p><p>“Don’t listen to them, Anakin, don’t give in,” he says, voice weak. </p><p>“You think?” He chokes out in response, straining under the effort of keeping the darkness at bay. </p><p>“Charming,” the leaders say, “but pointless. The moons will set soon. You can help us now and be on your way, or we can keep you here until they align again in a year. The choice is yours.” </p><p>“Doesn’t seem like much of a choice,” Anakin says, hoping Obi-Wan would help him talk his way out of this, but his rut it taking over his control once again, desperation pushing against Anakin’s mind on one side, the moons and altar on the other, keeping him trapped in place even more effectively than the chains. Leave it to Obi-Wan to deny himself for so long he becomes completely useless, he thinks bitterly. Almost all Jedi use suppressants, sure, but most still have controlled ruts once in a while, for health or just for fun. Nineteen years without is absurd. He isn’t even angry at him, it’s hard to be when his thighs are still sticky with his come. He’s angry at the council, at the order who raised him and sent them on this useless mission. He has no doubts now that it was engineered by the sith in the senate, all of the negotiations just a prelude to this. The fact that his first, and probably last, night with Obi-Wan is just another separatist plot makes him nauseous, the disgust coiling up and growing deep inside him with nowhere to go with his shields closed. </p><p>There’s no way out of this, he realises suddenly. There’s <em>always </em>a way, the force always shows him a solution even in the most hopeless situations, but now there’s nothing, the deafening droning of the opposed energies concentrated on him drowning out everything else. </p><p>“Fine,” he says finally, sagging in his chains. “I’ll do it, just let him go.”</p><p>“Anakin, don’t,” Obi-Wan whispers, but he’s made up his mind. Obi-Wan can’t be here for this, he can’t see what he’s about to become, and he doesn’t trust for one moment that they really intend to let them go after. And maybe if he only had his own rut and heat muddling his thoughts he could actually escape. His suspicions are confirmed when the pair answers.</p><p>“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We have no guarantee you wouldn’t try to just wait until next year, and we’d never separate a mated pair.”</p><p>“He is not my mate,” Anakin laughs, “We lied to you, Jedi cannot have mates.”</p><p>“The only one you’re lying to is yourself. You are bonded in every way that matters.”</p><p>“Just… Just let him go. I’ll do what you want, you have my word, but let him go.” His voice is weaker than he expected, and he isn’t lying. He won’t be able to hold it much longer, soon the force will connect through him whether he wants it or not. </p><p>“Anakin, don’t, please. You’re strong enough, we can wait it out,” Obi-Wan begs. </p><p>“Silence,” the leaders snap, and the closest figure knocks him out again with the butt of their spear.</p><p>Anakin stares as his head lulls on his shoulders, as blood trickles down his face from the reopened wound. Anger swells in him, loud but distant. It grows and grows and he doesn’t even feel it, concentrating on keeping his shields up, becoming one with the solid walls, trembling under countless storms. </p><p>“Why did you do that?” He asks, surprised at how calm his voice sounds. “You don’t need him. You only need me. Let him go, and I’ll do what you want, I gave you my word,” he repeats, distantly aware it’s an ultimatum, though not quite sure how he intends to honor it if they don’t agree.</p><p>“Your word doesn’t mean all that much. You just said you lied to us,” the pair in front of him answers, with a sick satisfaction in their echoing voices. He notices how they keep their distance from him, looking at him like he’s a piece of meat, sure, but a holy one, while they treat Obi-Wan like trash. It’s not right, he thinks, in the delirious clarity of his mind. Obi-Wan is the holy one. Anakin can handle worse, he almost deserves this. </p><p>“Whether I honor my word or no doesn’t change anything. You still won’t need him.”</p><p>For the first time since they arrived he sees a pair hesitate before speaking, looking at each other with something near an argument playing out in microexpressions, before they finally turn back to him. </p><p>“The force runs in your veins. Your line cannot be allowed to end. You will bring forth an heir to balance our world.”</p><p>The calm in his mind lasts for one more eternal second. He looks at Obi-Wan, chained and limp and bloody, and remembers how he smiled underneath him just hours ago. And then the meaning of what was just said sinks in, the force blinks in silent apology, and the quiet erupts in a deafening wail. His eyes cross, still fixed on Obi-Wan, and he sees his mother instead, tied with her arms spread just like him, the blood that had been dry and flaked with sand when he found her now fresh and glistening as it soaks Obi-Wan’s beard. </p><p>The dark void underneath the altar snickers in satisfaction and for the first time he faces it head on instead of hiding behind shields. It spreads in a welcoming embrace, but he’s ready for it, pushing it back down, pushing everything away with indisputable strength. The stone cracks underneath him, and darkness floods the room as the moons blink out. Covered by clouds or dead, he doesn’t care. His chains clatter to the floor, almost as an afterthought, and he stands in the room, watching everyone scrambling away where they fell. Some don’t move, limbs twisted in even more unnatural angles than usual, and he laughs. </p><p>Then he realises the anger in him that felt so distant earlier wasn’t really distant at all, it was just small, compressed into untenable density, and one more look at Obi-Wan is enough to trigger a supernova. The weak door holding his darkness at bay stands no chance against it, but that doesn’t bother him either. The power floods his mind, familiar and entirely new, and suddenly he can feel everything. Obi-Wan’s pain, blurry from unconsciousness. The weak shivering ball at the bottom of the well underneath the room, reduced to nothing from the endless power it had earlier. The dim light of the moons, searing cold and empty. And every strand of fear from the pitiful beings that thought they could ever hold him, every drop of foul blood in their veins and every shiver running through their bodies. He feels before he sees one of them scrambling for the door, leaving their mate behind, and he doesn’t even bother to speak, just sends a wave of mocking disappointment at their hypocrisy straight into their mind. And pushes more when he sees them stumble, until a thin trickle of blood runs from their nose. </p><p>None of them speak, not even to beg for mercy. None of them move, not even to release Obi-Wan. But that just means he doesn’t have to pretend to care. He lifts up his hands instead, finds all that blood and makes it stop. Bruises bloom on their pale skin, each tickling as if they were forming on his own body, but his hands are clear when his mind spreads further, feeling sparks of life all around the palace, then the town. Some are approaching quickly, and he takes hold of them too. Others hide further away, or even run like cowards, but they don’t get far. Coughs start to echo around the room, distracting him, annoying him. His teeth clench, then his fists, an awful, disgusting, hilarious crunching noise sounds in the room, then the palace, then the town, and then there’s nothing. </p><p>And in that dead silence a voice rings out through his mind, bright and warm, and infinitely sad. </p><p><em>Oh, Anakin,</em> it whispers, then fades again, leaving him alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings: vague mention of forced breeding, blood, bruising, mass murder using the force. You can skip the worst of all but the first one if you stop reading after Anakin breaks free near the end.</p><p>On a lighter note, I struggled a lot with this chapter but I have a pretty good idea what will happen in the next two so hopefully they'll show up sooner. And there will be smut in both of them.</p><p>Also sex wine is quickly becoming my trademark plot device and I don’t know how to feel about that. Does this count as sex pollen? Should I tag that? Why is there no tag for induced heat.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm on <a href="https://obimanletkenobi.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> under the same username</p></blockquote></div></div>
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